


Sampling the Merchandise

by Willaphyx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, and cake, because the cake is important, clueless dorks basically, shameless valentine's day fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt that the roommate found on Tumblr:  “I just saw a thing on fb like ‘does somebody wannabe fake engaged to me for like 2 hours to try free wedding cake samples’ and im just........ imagine your otp”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sampling the Merchandise

Bellamy’s scrolled through his Twitter timeline six times and has checked his news feed twice and he’s not sure why he’s doing this to himself.  The plethora of Valentine’s Day selfies and proclamations of love are making him sick to his stomach.  But then, maybe that’s his fault.  After all, he is the one who decided to break up with his girlfriend a week before the big V-day.  The box of chocolates he bought her and the massage parlor certificate are still sitting in his bedside table drawer.  He’d considered giving them to Octavia but that felt cheap somehow.  Instead, now he just stares that them every night before he goes to sleep.  It’s definitely not healthy.

He just sighs and clicks back into Facebook.  Refreshes the page.  Freezes.  Then refreshes again, leaning in closer to his computer, eyes squinting.

_**Clarke Griffin:**  who wants to be my fake fiance for the day for free wedding cake samples? (p.s. I’m only half joking)_

 

He blindly reaches for his phone and dials.  It’s barely to his ear when Octavia picks up, angrily hissing, “you are literally screwing up my entire evening, Bellamy, what do you _want?”_

_“_ Have you talked to Clarke today?”

She’s quiet.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Clarke.  Your ex-roommate.”

“Yes, Bellamy, I know who Clarke is.  Why do you care?”

He scrolls the cursor over her most recent status and chews his lip.  “I just think she might--” He stops.  “Never mind.”

Octavia’s exhale is sharp and static-y in his ear.  “Jesus Christ, Bell.  Next time you’re feeling sad and lonely call Miller.”

She hangs up with a click.  Bellamy’s still got the phone pressed to his ear when he clicks on comment.

_I’m down._

Not even ten seconds later, his computer chimes.

_New message from Clarke Griffin: meet me at my place in 20._

 

He pulls up in front of Clarke’s apartment building thirty minutes later and resists the urge to immediately drive away again.  Probably because Clarke’s standing on the sidewalk out front, arms crossed, foot tapping.

Bellamy asks himself for the sixth time why he thought this was a good idea.

“You’re late,” she says, clipped, as she gets into the passenger seat.

“Princess,” he responds.

She shoots him an angry look.  “You’d think that at least today of all days, you’d stop with the nicknames.”

“Pet names are cute, Clarke.  Most people like them.”

She snorts.  “Then is it cool if I start calling you asswipe?”

Bellamy bites down on his lip to stop himself from saying something mean and puts the car in drive.  “You’re the one who started this.”

“Well, you didn’t have to reply!” she snapped back. He rolls his eyes.

“Who can say no to free cake?”

She crosses her arms and stares defiantly out the window.  For the seventh time, Bellamy wonders what possessed him to reply.

“You know, I could be at home drinking myself into a stupor,” he tells her.

She just cocks an eyebrow.

“And I’m not nearly as desperate as that makes me sound,” he mutters to the dashboard.

If he’s not mistaken, that earns him a bit of a smile, hard as she might try to hide it.

Clarke gives him directions to head into town and he does, choosing to turn on the radio in favor of having to make conversation.  She just stares at the window, tapping her fingers against the door in tune with the beat.

“I didn’t know you liked classic rock,” he says quietly after a while, making her jump.

“It’s not bad,” she hedges.

He just grins.  “Just because you hate me doesn’t mean you have to hate things that I like.  If it makes you feel better, Miller likes classic rock, too.”

“I do like Miller,” she muses and Bellamy chuckles.

After a long pause, she says, “I don’t hate you,” so quietly that he thinks he missed it.

He looks over carefully to see her cheeks a little pink.  She’s determinedly staring at the license plate of the car in front of them.  For some reason, that brings a thrill of excitement to Bellamy’s stomach.

His mouth opens on the words _I don’t hate you either_  but he swallows them.

She tells him to pull into the Target parking lot and he blinks.

“No wonder it’s free,” he says sarcastically.  “Who buys wedding cakes from Target?”

“No one, you idiot,” she hisses back, already pushing open her door and grabbing her purse. “But my fiance hasn’t bought me a wedding ring yet.”

She leaves him spluttering in the front seat, walking purposefully towards the front of the store.

Bellamy practically throws himself out of the car and rushes to catch up with her. “I don’t know exactly what you think is going on here, Clarke, but it’s not like I just have a disposable _1,500 dollars_ to spend on a diamond ring.”

Her smile is sweet.  “Don’t worry, Bellamy, I have a plan.”

Clarke’s plan is terrible but then, Bellamy’s not really sure what he was expecting.

She plasters herself against his side, so close that he thinks he can’t breathe (and not in the way that you usually want when a hot girl is this close to you) once they step into the store, laughing and giggling in a very un-Clarke way.  The employees stare at them in a distinct “we’ve seen too many couples” way that makes Bellamy want to run but instead he just slings a hand around Clarke’s waist and tries to pretend that this isn’t the most uncomfortable he’s been in his life.

The jewelry counter staff seem surprisingly convinced by their act--which Bellamy is convinced is atrocious--and barely even blink at the fact that Clarke’s the only one talking.  After all, Bellamy’s a bit mesmerized by the price tags attached to the items in the case.

If he didn’t want to be able to pay his rent or potentially starve, it’d only take him a year to save up for that necklace.

Clarke’s going on about how they’ve known each other forever and yet falling in love with him was a shock (Bellamy almost chuckles at that one because honestly, there’s nothing that seems more ridiculous than Clarke Griffin in love with him) and how he _finally_  proposed.

She pokes him in the rib on that last comment and Bellamy looks up and manages to force a possibly convincing smile before kissing her hair.  The employees practically fall over themselves.

Clarke’s a bit stiff under his hand, likely because of the unexpected affection but he barely notices, too distracted by how her hair smells strongly of gardenias.

When he tunes back into the conversation there’s something about payment plans and monthly interest and his head’s spinning but Clarke’s nodding along and smiling and then she points at a ring in the center of the case, simple yet elegant, with a silver band, and a single square cut diamond in its center.

“A nice choice,” the salesperson tells her and Clarke grins.

“Simple just like us, right, babe?” she asks him, voice dripping with honey.

“Right.”

Clarke holds her hand out and lets them slip the ring on and coos at it.  Bellamy hands over his credit card and let’s them bill him for $150 and makes a mental note to demand that Clarke either pay him back or do his laundry for the next two months.  He looks forward to that particular argument.

They’re in the car before they speak again.

“That was revolting,” he tells her.  “If I ever get married--”

“If?” she cuts in.  “Don’t you want to?”

“Fuck, Clarke, I don’t know.  I’m feeling a bit jaded by love at the moment.”

She’s twisting the ring around her finger and the reflection it casts flashes against the ceiling of his car.

“Yeah, I get it.  And I’m sorry.  About Echo.”

“Thanks,” he says, a bit grudgingly.

“I”m serious,” she insists.

He looks over.  She’s staring at him intensely, challengingly.  “I know.”

 

The bakery they pull up to is attached to a cute-looking French bistro with a hand-painted sign and a striped awning.  Bellamy circles the block for five minutes, cursing angrily until he finds a parking spot.  Clarke just sits in the passenger seat and smiles.

The bakery is deserted but smells incredible, the heady scents of chocolate, macarons, and espresso mixing together into something delectable that has Bellamy’s mouth watering.

Clarke strides right up to the counter, dragging him more than a little uncomfortably by the and smiles at the woman behind the counter.

“Hi, I’m Clarke, and this is my fiance, Bellamy.”  She holds up her left hand and wiggles the fingers, laughing a little breathlessly.  “We saw your ad about free cake sampling today?”

The woman beams at them. “Ah, yes,” she says in heavily accented English. “The St. Valentine’s special!”

Clarke smiles and nods while Bellamy tries not to look too flabbergasted.

“Yes, yes, do go sit and I’ll go prepare some samples.”

They sit and wait.  Clarke’s sitting in that absurdly prim and proper way that always makes Bellamy’s back hurt to look at.  He slumps down a bit excessively, if only because he knows it’ll piss Clarke off.  Sure enough, she’s shooting him daggered glares.

“Would it kill you to sit up straight?” she demands, eyes glued to the doorway the woman had disappeared through.

Bellamy just shrugs.  “Maybe.”

She kicks him violently in the shins.  He doubles over, swearing loudly.  “Jesus _fuck_ , Clarke.”

She opens her mouth to make an angry retort but there are cake samples in front of them now and a beaming middle-aged French woman who thinks they’re engaged and Bellamy kind of hates himself a little.

“So,” the woman--Marie, from her name tag--tells them, “this is a special day for you two, no?”

“I’m sorry?” Bellamy asks.

“The first Valentine’s Day as forever.”  She smiles fondly.  “I remember it well.”

There’s a tarnished gold ring on her finger, worn yet loved.  Bellamy swallows.

“We’re not much for senti--” Clarke’s saying but Bellamy cuts her off, reaching for her hand and tangling their fingers together.

“You’re definitely right,” he tells her, feeling a smile spread across his face. “And I can’t imagine a better way to spend today than planning our wedding.  Right, princess?”  He keeps the sarcasm out of his voice this time, says it softly and with feeling, like his high school drama teacher was always telling him.

The difference clearly isn’t lost on Clarke.  Her fingers tighten, probably unconsciously, against his and her mouth’s hanging open a little, her eyes unfocused.  “Right,” she manages, finally ripping away her eyes.

Marie’s still smiling fondly as she gestures to the cakes laid out, two bite-sized pieces of each.  “I brought out my personal favorites along with some of my staff,” she tells them, “if you don’t like any of these, and would like to come back, I can have some whipped up especially for the occasion.”

“They look delicious,” Clarke says shifting forward.  She’s still holding his hand.

Marie waves a hand.  “I’ve been at this for twenty-five years, my dear, I hope they are.”

Clarke laughs.

“Anyway,” the older woman continues.  “We have red velvet, German chocolate, carrot cake, vanilla coconut, fruitcake, Mexican chocolate, apple spice, and lemon.  Which would you like to start with?”

“Red velvet is Bell’s favorite, how about that one?”

The snippet sends a shockwave through Bellamy.  The only time he can remember admitting to his favorite kind of cake in front of Clarke was when she was still in college, over five years ago.  The fact that she remembers such an inane fact is shocking.

“Wonderful.”  Marie produces two small tasting forks and hands them out.

Bellamy spears his piece first and takes a small bite.  The flavor bursts on his tongue.  His eyes connect with Clarke as she chews and her smile is small but real, cheeks turning pink again.

“This is some of the best cake I’ve ever had,” Bellamy tells Marie’s expectant gaze and she laughs.

“You certainly can lay on the charm.”  She lightly pats Clarke’s arm.   “It’s no wonder you said yes.”

Clarke’s cheeks flush darker and she clears her throat.  “So the next cake?”

Marie chuckles and says something that sounds distinctly like, “ah, young love,” under her breath but doesn’t fight it.

The rest of the cakes are just as delicious, except for the carrot cake, but Bellamy’s never been a fan of that particular flavor.  Marie puts the plate behind the counter and returns with a full piece of the German chocolate and a fork.  She puts it down in front of both of them with a smile and says, “I could tell it was both of your favorites.”

Bellamy pulls out his wallet but she pushes it away.

“On the house for a young couple in love.”  Her fingers tap across her own wedding band. “It’s what my husband, bless his soul, would have wanted.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says simply, picking up the fork and slicking off a piece.  “You’ve been so accommodating.”

“Ah, pish posh.”

Clarke passes the fork to Bellamy and their fingers brush just briefly.  He feels the smallest bolt up his fingers and he shakes himself.  He’s not doing this right now.

“You haven’t told me your story yet,” Marie comments.  “Usually it’s the first thing out of engaged couples’ mouths.”

“Story?” Clarke asks.

“How he proposed!  Or you, proposed, it is the twenty-first century after all.”

“Well, uh,” Clarke says slowly.

Bellamy puts down the fork.  “I spent a lot of time thinking about it,” he tells the table. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

Clarke’s foot is on top of his under the table, pressing down uncomfortably on his toes.  It’s a warning to not get in to deep.

“Clarke’s originally from out in the middle of nowhere,” he says, “and she’s always really loved the outdoors.  We met in college, at an outdoors club meeting when she almost disemboweled me with a ski pole.”  He grins.  Even though she nearly killed him, it’s still one of the higher points of their relationship.  “So I took her hiking.  Up to the top of this mountain about an hour east of here, right before sunset.  I brought a picnic and we made it to the top just as the sun was setting.  It was beautiful, the sky stained red and purple.  And then...well and then I asked her to marry me.  And I have no idea why, but she said yes.”  The smile on his face is dopey and he knows it but he can’t bring himself to care.  If you’d asked, he honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain where the story came from but he knew deep down that if he had proposed to Clarke that would have been how he would have done it.

The silence was broken by Clarke’s chair angrily grating against the floor.  “I just remembered I have to call my mom,” she says, almost mechanically. “Bellamy, I’ll meet you by the car.” And she’s practically running out of the bakery, banging through the door and into the parking lot.

“You’ve got quite the life ahead of you, young man.  High strung one, you’ve got there.”

“She’s definitely something,” Bellamy replies.

“You make a lovely couple.”

“You think so?” He can’t keep the tone of surprise out of his voice.

She smiles.  “It’s obvious how in love you are.  Swing by anytime.  There’ll always be a piece of cake here for you.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy replies, and he’s surprised by how sincere he is.  “I’m just going to go find my fiance.”

“Treasure her,” Marie tells him as he gets up.  “You never know when she won’t be around anymore.”

“I will,” he promises and it doesn’t even taste like a lie.

Clarke’s leaning against his car, twirling her phone between her fingers.

“I actually did call my mom,” she offers, holding it up.

He just shakes his head.  “You can do what you want, Clarke.”  He wrenches open his door and slides inside.

“Bellamy?”

“What?”

She looks a little wounded.  “Nothing.  I’m sorry.”

He takes a deep breath and looks over.  “No, I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“I’m going to return the ring,” she says softly.  “So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“The people at the jewelry counter will be crushed,” he replies, only half-sarcastically.

“I’m sure we weren’t the only ones who got engaged on Valentine’s Day and then thought better of it,” she snaps back, and there’s something that sounds almost like bitterness in her voice.

“I’ll take you home?” he offers and she just nods.

The drive back to Clarke’s apartment complex is silent yet uncomfortably charged with an energy that Bellamy doesn’t know how to name.

_Or maybe_ , a snide voice whispers in the back of his head, _you don’t want to because you’re too afraid_.

He squashes that.

He pulls into a guest parking space and shifts the car into park.  There’s a long pause during which Clarke just stares at the dashboard, her hands twisted tightly together in her lap.

In one swift motion she leans over and turns the car off.  “Will you come inside?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Bellamy has never been able to say no to Clarke when she asks him like that.

He trails her up the stairs to the third floor and down the hallway with it’s horrible sixties style carpet and peeling baseboards.  Clarke’s apartment is small yet tastefully decorated, with an area rug in the living room and framed prints of her art on the wall.

“You want something to drink?”

“I’m fine, but thanks.”

She pours herself a glass of water and wanders into the living room, slipping onto the couch.  “I, uh, have a confession to make.”

He sits across from her, studying her face.

“You’re going to pawn the ring to pay your rent and I’m on my own for those monthly payments?” he guesses and she laughs a little breathlessly.

“No.”

“Then what?”

She sips at her water.  “When I posted that status earlier, I...kind of hoped that you’d be the one to respond?”

She might as well have thrown the water in his face.  Bellamy blinks.  “What?”

“Jesus,” she mutters.  “I like you. Okay?  Even though all we seem to do is fight and you drive me up the _fucking wall_  but you’re just God, you’re so good to people and you’re funny and you’re just...you’re wonderful.  Does it sound dumb if I say that?”

“No,” he says slowly.  “I’m just a bit shocked, honestly.”

She chews on her lip.  “I resigned myself to desperate pining.  It was easier when you were dating someone because I knew I couldn’t have you.  Today was probably some kind of masochistic self-punishment, honestly.”  She looks down at her hand and slides off the ring, putting it on the coffee table between them.  “But it was Valentine’s Day, and we were both alone and I figured what the hell?”

“I have a box of chocolates in my night stand,” Bellamy tells her.  “What do you say we go over to my place and I give them to you?”

She looks up at him, eyes a little red from the tears she’s probably trying to hold in.  “I’m sorry?”

“And then we can go to dinner.  All the good restaurants are probably booked but we can go on a picnic or something.  If you want,” he adds lamely, mainly because Clarke’s staring at him like he ran over her cat.

“I want,” she finally manages.  “Bellamy, this is crazy.”

“I know,” he deadpans. “What kind of basket case are you, asking the entire Internet if they want to be fake engaged to you to sample wedding cakes just so you can maybe go on a weird pseudo-date with the guy you have a crush on.”

“The guy I’m in love with,” she corrects.  “Sorry, if that’s a lot, but I figure I might as well put all my cards on the table.”

He grins.  “Sounds just fine to me.”

She grins back and reaches for his hand.  This time he doesn’t fight the lightning arcing up his arm.

“You’re still returning the ring,” he tells her and she laughs.

“Scout’s honor.”

“You’ll have to come up with something better, Griffin, O’s told me all about your failed attempts at being a Girl Scout.”

Her laugh is breathless and she’s in his lap and her hands are framing his face and Bellamy has no idea how he never noticed how beautiful she is and how much he’s in love with her.

He opens his mouth to tell her but she leans in closer and the words catch in his throat.  “Shhh,” she whispers, lips brushing hers.  “We can talk later.”

And then she kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr!](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)


End file.
